Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“Up for a walk?” Austin hands me the last two spoons to drop into the dishwasher.
I nod so hard my neck tweaks.
He steps toward the living room like he might call out to his family, but his eyes flick to me, and he thinks better of it.
Without a word, he heads for the garage, shrugs off his button-up, and hooks it by the coats.
His fingers wrap around mine as he searches my face for something I don’t know how to give.
Down the driveway, through the grass, past tractors and ant piles the size of volcanoes. Finally, we reach a trail cut through the dense brush and trees.
Letting out a breath, my iron grip on his hand loosens.
Austin navigates the trail with ease—yet another new side of him—until we arrive at an open iron gate. If he told me it had been there two hundred years, I’d believe it.
“This is the back forty,” he says.
I marvel. Back forty—just like that Jordan Davis song we argued about at B-Dubs. At the very beginning.
His sly smile. “No need to phone a friend next time.”
The thick tangle of trees and wild bushes taper off into a huge field. I point at a coyote running on the far side.
A nod of his head and a tilt toward an open treehouse, wrapping up two enormous trees. Can that be real?
His eyes shine. “C’mon.” Such an accent it could’ve been Haymitch. And then he takes off running, a little boy in grown-up skin.
My heart squeezes, and I take off after him. But he jolts to a stop at the bottom of the treehouse steps, hand reaching to grab mine. A staircase to the first level. A ladder to the second. At the top, he steps behind me, one arm around me, the other pointing up. “Stars are startin’ to come out.”
I follow his finger. A few faint specks overhead. Barely visible in the darkening blue sky. Is this what taught him to love the stars?
A tear trails down my cheek.
No. What? I paw it away.
Help me, Jesus. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
I twist from the sky. To him—this guy who’s deeper, more complex, more beautiful than I even realized. I can’t see the stars, but I can see him. The weight of it buckles me, and my forehead sinks into his chest. I don’t have the words to ask him all the things I want to know.
“Austin?” I blink up at him. I’ve officially gone full owl—perched in a treehouse, no less.
“Hey,” he says softly, drying my cheek with his thumb. “Trying to make me feel better after yesterday?”
I chuckle through my thick throat. Lifting his hand, I kiss the back, his palm, his fingers.
He brushes hair from my face.
“I can’t believe you grew up here.” A sob threatens in my throat, but I press it down. “It’s so … it’s so … good.”
He squints and nods. He squeezes me into a hug, and I beat the sob down with every ounce of strength I have left.
What a fiasco.
If the palpable awkwardness and personality transplant came from anyone else, I’d be twitching hard. But it’s Sophie, so today has been excruciating. Nothing I do helps.
Please, just give me a clue.
It’s just home. It’s peace and rest and family and amazing food. Not for her, clearly. She helped me through my meltdown yesterday, and I thanked her by dragging her to some unknown torture.
Is this on me? Should I have known better?
I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Wanna head back?” I ask into her hair.
She shakes her head violently.
“Okay, we’ll stay.”
Desperate to cheer her up, I seat her next to me and point past the fence of our property.
“Grandmaría and Grandpa—the OG Austin Scott—live ten minutes that way. And Caleb’s family lives twenty minutes back there.
Mama wanted to invite them all tonight, but I talked her out of it.
Thought it’d be overwhelming.” And good thing.
They wouldn’t have met the real Sophie, just this sad, detached shell of her.
Her eyes widen in horror. I’d ask why, but she hasn’t answered a single question today. She’s horrified by all things non-horrific.
No sign of improvement, but I charge ahead. “They’re all fussy at me. But they can wait till next time to meet you.”
Her eyes widen. Not in a good way. “They know about me?”
“Of course they know about you.” My brows press together.
“I told them about you months ago. I love you.” What planet is she from?
Has she not told her family about us? My family knew how I felt about her before she did.
I squeeze her knee, and she leans forward for a kiss.
I don’t know if it’s a good idea to kiss her when she’s so wonky, but I shouldn’t withhold affection either.
When she presses her lips to mine, all thoughts evaporate.
She scoots closer for another. So cute. I wrap a hand behind her head, through that beautiful hair, and melt into her. And—
Salt water.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks. What?
I pull back, try to read her face. I’ve never seen Sophie like this. Not even on her rare sad days. Not by a long shot.
“Austin, I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“What? No.”
“I want to do this right. I don’t know how. I’m so sorry.” She tugs on my shirt, sucks in a shaky breath. “I was supposed to make them like me. I was supposed to show them I can take care of you.” Her trickling tears turn to sobs. “I don’t know how to do any of this.”
My favorite person in the world is boo-hoo crying on my treehouse, and I might fall apart again.
Help me help her.
I grip her jaw and get right in her face. “Soph. I just want you. More than anything. I just want you here with me.”
“Not like this. I swear I was trying.”
“I know. I know you are.”
“What can I do? What do you want me to do?”
“I just wanna fix it for you,” I say. “I wanna make you happy.”
“No. Your family. What should I do?”
“Talk to them. Like you did. You tried, and that’s enough.”
Sharp head shake. “Austin. Stop.”
I scramble for something. “I dunno. Dad likes dominoes. And watch Mom’s show later? They’d like that. Is that what you mean?”
She bobs a nod.
I wipe her face dry and kiss her forehead. “I love you, Soph. We’re gonna do this together, right? Like you said?”
She swallows thickly. “Okay.”
Music. Something to bring her back. I stand and tug her hand. “Up you go.”
When “Y’all Life” bursts from my phone speaker, she actually cracks a smile. I humble myself and serve up my most ridiculous dance moves.
There it is. A full, bright Sophie laugh. It pulls me in like gravity. A grin spreads across my face. She’s back.
She sways to the music, more seductively than she means to. Without warning, she grabs my shirt and yanks me close, crashing her lips against mine with such force that I see sparks. My heartbeat stumbles, then takes off at a full gallop. Kisses on my cheek, my jaw, my ear.
“Thank you,” she says.
When she pulls back to meet my gaze, her steaming latte eyes warm my cold insides. I need my lips on hers, and not just once or twice. I’m about to push her up against this tree and kiss her like I’ve always wanted to. Like she’s asking me to.
Just in time, my feet edge back and save me from myself. I tug at my hair. I’m sick of being good all the time. I wish I could just do what I want for one day, one hour.
She runs a thumb across my lip, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I didn’t bring a flashlight,” I mumble. “We could use our phones and risk a dicey walk back, or we can go with this last light.”
She deflates. “Right. We can head back.”
And just like that, she’s gone again.
We walk back through a symphony of crickets, snapping twigs, and the whir of wind through bare branches. Austin has a hiking trail in his backyard. Like everything else here, beautiful and bizarre.
A round of chicken foot and an episode of The Great British Baking Show are my earnest attempt before the group collectively heads to bed.
“Thank you for being here today!” Janie calls.
In a freak moment of Normal Sophie, I give a royal wave like Julie Andrews in Princess Diaries.
Austin and I help his mom make up the pullout in the loft, and then he informs me I’ll be sleeping in his bed. I try to argue—because that feels like the responsible thing to do—but I’m deeply relieved when he shuts it down. His room feels safer, as if his essence is captured inside.
I’m a good little Cleaver and collapse at ten. But when I hear Austin’s hushed voice downstairs, I throw off the covers and silently crack the door open.
“Son, I’m concerned about you getting serious when you could be transferring in a matter of weeks.”
“I’m not going. I’m sorry, Dad.”
I flinch.
Mr. Scott clears his throat, like he’s hesitating. “You weren’t sure. You were gonna submit the game tape and see what happens, see how God leads.”
“I told Coach. Called it off. I know, I’m sorry. Look, I just know I can’t have Sophie and football.”
Softer now. “She asked you to stay?”
“No, she offered to come.”
“I see.”
Silence.
“Is this what God wants?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” He sounds about to collapse. “How does anyone know? But I won’t be able to live with myself if I give her up.”
“You’re sure you’re ready to throw away your lifelong dream? Your one-in-a-million talent?”
The implication screams loudest. For her?